


Stain of Freedom

by Vaecordia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred is absolutely insane, Dark America (Hetalia), Guns, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, M/M, Nuclear Weapons, Self-mutilation (in a way), Suicide, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Trust me on that one, War, i'm back at it with the darkness and angst whoops, ish, mentions of:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 03:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaecordia/pseuds/Vaecordia
Summary: And Alfred knows they’ve all forgotten the looks of fear they gave him when they realised he was a superpower, capable of far more than any of the others could dream of.(A sequel/continuation of I Am Become Death.)





	Stain of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a kind of continuation/simultaneous sequel to "I Am Become Death", after jeejee12 (bless you and thank you for the ideas!) gave me the perfect excuse and reason to dabble, again, in dark!America. This time from his point of view instead of Ivan's. And thank you to my beta-reader!

 -  _Living forever doesn’t mean lasting forever -_

* * *

Alfred watches Ivan from the other side of the table, seeing the careful way he follows every single one of Alfred’s actions. When he retrieves the pen cap, Ivan’s eyes follow him. When he looks at the clock, he sees that Ivan’s eyes linger on it for a moment. Alfred tries not to grin, but fails when Ivan’s eyes meet directly his. Soon, though, he breaks the eye-contact and turns back to whoever is presenting their latest ideas on economics or energy-saving. He hasn’t followed any of it. He doesn’t really think he needs to, what with the way the other nations would dismiss his ideas with a snort and a laugh - _he’s too young, he knows nothing, he can’t think anything through properly._

And Alfred knows they’ve all forgotten the looks of fear they gave him when they realised he was a superpower, capable of far more than any of the others could dream of.

* * *

_They step aside as Alfred strolls into the meeting room past all the other nations, his eyes brighter than they’d ever been, his presence a leaden weight in the room. He brushes past them all, enters the meeting room - the others follow soon, every one of them wanting to see the hints, the evidence of the power Alfred had unleashed. Japan is nowhere to be seen. Russia - no, the Soviet Union - glares viciously at the American, and Eastern Europe tenses._

_Alfred stops at his side of the table, and unleashes a grin worthy only of one who holds such power as he does. When the rest of the world has entered the meeting room, the meeting leads to absolutely nothing._

_A few years later, the Soviet Union enters another meeting with a smile as broad as Alfred’s earlier, and from Alfred’s livid glare Ivan knows there’s little left unbroken in the paranoid nation’s home. But then, Alfred unexpectedly smiles back at him._

_Later, when the meeting is over, Alfred comes up to him when no other nation is around, and tells him only two words -_

_Game on._

* * *

Sometimes, Japan still unwittingly flinches when Alfred catches him off-guard. Vietnam makes it a point to avoid as much as she can in the hallways of their conference buildings. And he knows that some Middle Eastern countries glare daggers at him whenever his back is turned (but never, _ever_ to his face). Alfred knows he could exploit this, but Ivan has told him that there’s no need to hurry.

In time, he believes, they will have to come around. After all, Alfred knows there is no-one left who can stand alone and reckon with such a force as Alfred. And especially not when behind the curtains, he has Ivan by his side. Of course, he’s made sure that no-one knows of his illicit _liaison_ with the second most powerful nation - it would, naturally, lead only to unwanted panic and sanctions that would do nobody any good.

* * *

_Alfred remembers the day he met the Soviet troops at the flowing Elbe river, the cheerful song and chatter that was proof of the camaraderie between the two countries. A few years later, though, there’s no trace of it. Most other nations have most likely forgotten about the day, and so when a meeting occurs on that precise date,  April 25th, in 1951, they’re not prepared for the sight of Alfred and Ivan talking - chatting - together in a corner of the meeting room, and their confusion only grows when the two superpowers sit next to each other. Alfred lounges in his chair with a dangerously sweet smile; Ivan merely gives a sickeningly hearty laugh at something Alfred said. The other nations are confused, worried, afraid - had they overnight worked out their differences?_

_But what they don’t hear are the implications of destruction and apocalypse that they lace their words with. They don’t think anything of the tapping of Alfred’s fingers against the table in a casual, steady rhythm, which Ivan knows to indicate Alfred’s restlessness. They don’t note the slight tensing of Ivan’s muscles every time Alfred changes position in his chair._

_Maybe they just don’t want to see it, think of it, hear it._

* * *

To feel calmer, get their mind off, some people clean their cars. Some shine their silvers. Alfred polishes his gun.

His gun, these days, is merely an extension of his arm. It goes where he goes, slips into his hand when he needs it, light and fitting. Pens, in his opinion, are more awkward. He doesn’t doubt that Germany knows he always carries it into the meeting. Maybe England has an idea, too. Obviously Ivan knows, the man sees Alfred slide it into his jacket almost every morning.

His target practice amounts to little more than sitting outside on a bright day, and firing at the apples in the appletree about a hundred meters, maybe two away from the patio. Sometimes he hits a bird, too.

He sometimes gets asked about the bullet hole in the wall of the conference room when the nations return from their breaks. Ivan usually tries to stifle a grin.

* * *

_“Describe it.”_

_Alfred looks up with a questioning frown. “Describe what?”_

_“The bomb.”_

_Ivan’s looking at him - through him - and a smile splits across his face. From his standing position across the table, Alfred eyes Ivan sweetly, leaning against the back of his chair._

_“You want the details?” Alfred asks. Ivan doesn’t answer. “There’s obviously the technical side of things…” He sees Ivan shift in his chair, and Alfred starts to walk around the table - slow, tempting. “It was detonated yesterday morning, you know. Beautiful - ethereal, really. Godly.” Alfred grins, and he knows he has Ivan hooked. “I felt every one of the eighty-four terajoules of energy sizzle through me - worth 20 kilotons of TNT.”_

_Alfred smirks as he approaches Ivan. “There’s no sand there any more. It’s glass - the ground, radioactive glass. It seems insane that we - no, I - could wield such power, doesn’t it? Me, the young, silly kid across the ocean who’s made his place with stupid fuckin’ luck,_ I - _I’m the one with the weapon, all your lives in my hands, every single one at my mercy.”_

_Alfred’s smile has fallen, his eyes dark and feral as he stands a meter away from Ivan, who’s seated in his chair with a deadly look in his eyes. Alfred’s expression clears up. He knows Ivan wants it as well, that he feels threatened, challenged._

_Alfred removes his bomber jacket, throwing it on the back of the chair next to him, and unbuttons his suit jacket. He places that on the chair, too. He turns around, unbuttons his shirt, and lets it fall down his arms to his hands to expose the bandaging over his shoulder. Alfred looks over his shoulder at Ivan, the temptation obvious in his eyes._

_Alfred grins. “Take them off. The bandages. And then you can see what it does.” He turns his head to look at the wall, and hears Ivan get up and the clacking of his boots against the hardwood floor. He stops. Alfred feels fingers trace the edge of the bandage before beginning to tear it off. The white cotton and tissue come off to reveal the marred skin, the injury, a mark of the power he holds now._

_Alfred barely hears the sharp intake of breath, and he feels Ivan’s fingers glide on the scorched, blistering, angry skin. It’s painful, and Alfred smiles._

* * *

He switches from one channel to another, bits and pieces of phrases and words reaching him.

_“... the man was shot by - please, don’t leave me, I’ll do anything - 32-year-old Albert Dawson was arrested - special offer, don’t miss it - the President’s speech caused, once again, international condemn - Goldberg passes to Michaels who’s running across the field and HE SCORES - we welcome professor - order it for only 9.99 today!-”_

Ivan is in the kitchen behind him, more likely than not watching Alfred’s mindless surfing. He knows Ivan would much rather get the kitchen in order than watch television - he’s complained about it enough. Alfred doesn’t really care if, in the other nations’ opinion, his nation is in turmoil, or mindless, or stupid, or uninterested.

He keeps his people entertained. He keeps them happy. He keeps them busy. He allows his people the respite he sometimes wishes he could get - after all, Alfred is a strong believer of “ignorance is bliss”. It’s just not for him - he’s the one who has to maintain his position at the top of the world.

* * *

_“Alfred, don’t you think the world is better off without another war?”_

_He shrugs._

_“Take a step back from things sometimes. Maybe it’ll ease off.”_

_He agrees._

_“I believe we no longer need your ‘help’, America.”_

_He laughs._

_“You still owe me from last time - pay that back and I’ll discuss things with you.”_

_He nods._

_He falls silent, he watches, and he pretends._

_They don’t need him. They don’t care. He’s their scapegoat. He’s the bane of their lives. He’s the root of their problems. He’s also the only one who has an interest in how the world is run._

_And so he wears his crown, but everyone is more interested in his mask. Perhaps they find it reassuring, or safe, or just prettier than the face of the man that bears the weight of the world._

_He wears his mask. He hides his blood-stained hands and his smoking gun. He smiles._

* * *

He remembers every time he wanted and tried to kill himself. The first time was the Civil War - the pain quite literally almost tore him apart. And so he took his weapon and shot himself in the head. It was necessary, almost, for him to be able to return as a united or divided nation.

He isn’t sure whether he actually ever came back from it - the rift across his country, sometimes, feels almost insurmountable.

The next time was 1930. He thought he could make it through the slump - he’d believed it was a slump. It wasn’t, and the sight of his people struggling was too much.

After that, it was mostly an accident - it wasn’t as much suicide as it was recklessness and a fragile state of mind. He doesn’t isn’t actually sure of the year even, but he knows it was probably around 2010. He’d let himself go - rarely eating, barely sleeping, the only thing that mattered being his country. Those years were a slight haze, war after another, useless politicians, empty promises - and one day, he just snapped.

He remembers clearing up for a minute, in the middle of the house, his almost deathly thin frame covered in cuts, bruises, bleeding profusely from different places. His gun lay next to him, and with a smile he shot himself. Perhaps he’d thought everything could be better that way.

Ivan had been the one to find him. He woke up in his bed, and when he’d risen (paying no heed to the pounding in his head and the soreness of his body) he’d gone downstairs and found Ivan immersed in one of his books. He’d looked up at Alfred.

“I took the liberty of fixing this place up a bit. Some furniture needed changing.”

Alfred had looked around, and sure enough everything he’d broken had been replaced.

“Is there a reason for your visit?”

It’s an unspoken agreement. Alfred said nothing in 1991. Ivan says nothing now.

“Not really. Would you like to order in?”

Alfred considers his options. “I haven’t eaten in-”

“Would you like to order in?”

Alfred shrugs. “Sure.”

Ivan picks up Alfred’s phone that’s lying on the coffee table next to him. “Matthew called you. I told him you were unavailable.” He finds the number he wants to call, and presses it. “Will you be at the next world meeting?”

Alfred lifts an eyebrow. “Will you drag me there if I say no?”

“Yes.” Ivan puts the phone to his ear.

“Then my answer doesn’t matter.”

“I suppose it does not. Hello? I would like to order some food.”

* * *

_“Fancy seeing you here, Braginsky!”_

_A scoff. “Intriguing, coming from the man who purposefully drugged my water at the meeting earlier. What do you want?”_

_“To mess with you.” A laugh, twisted and threatening. “Mess with your head, spin it ‘round until you can’t make up right from left. You know, the usual stuff.”_

_Alfred shifts to face Ivan, crouching to be face-to-face with the tied man. His eyes flicker as he blinks, his eyes shifting around Ivan’s face._

_“Is this what you’ve twisted yourself into? Is this what your paranoia has led you to?”_

_“You should know everything about paranoia. About wanting to do the first strike before the enemy can possibly get to you. I’m just experiencing the same thing. You’d know the feeling. Those purges, were they your idea, too?” Alfred smiles, his laugh breathy. Ivan can feel the air as it glides across his cheek. Alfred’s gloved hand grabs Ivan’s chin roughly, while his lips trace Ivan’s jaw._

_“Fearing your own people… because they’re human. They might turn on you. You know the feeling. Having to be on the look-out all the time. When’s the last time you slept?” It’s a whisper into his ear, dangerous and low._

_"I’m not gonna pretend I’m any better off than you are. We’re both in this fucking mess, together, ‘til the end. Right, Braginsky?”_

_Ivan’s lips curl into a snarl, but Alfred can see the vicious, angry, frightened fire in those smoldering eyes. He smiles and lets go of Ivan’s jaw, standing up and sliding out a knife from his jacket and inspecting it._

_“I just got a few questions before we can get to the fun part.”_

* * *

When Alfred looks over again across the meeting table, Ivan’s eyes are still on him, and Alfred tries to guess what Ivan’s thinking about. It has to do with him - it might just be his narcissism talking, but he’s fairly sure Ivan wouldn’t hold his gaze on Alfred for so long if he weren’t thinking about him.

Alfred smiles to himself, and knows that he’s got practically the entire world hook, line and sinker, except Ivan. Ivan only revels in seeing his true self. Alfred is glad to show it to him.

He knows no Empire can last forever. But he will make it last as long as he can. And when he falls, it will be slow, excruciating, and the world will reverberate with its effects.

Alfred smiles, and Ivan notices it.

If he has to, he will take everyone and everything down with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Historical notes, in order of the bits and pieces of the fic.
> 
> \- The US obtained their nuclear weapons in 1945, while it took the Soviet Union until 1949 to do the same - but they got there.
> 
> \- Elbe Day was when US and Soviet troops met at the Elbe on April 25th, 1945, towards the end of World War II. It marked a special date that gained meaning in the following years when the Cold War tensions were rising.
> 
> \- The US's Trinity test was the first successful nuclear weapon tested. There was a lot of uncertainty with it, but Truman wanted the weapon tested before the Potsdam conference where he was to meet with Stalin - he wanted to know of its success before attending. 
> 
> \- The references to the dates of suicides: Civil War is rather an obvious one. 1930 was during the Great Depression, a time of extreme struggle in America. And 2010 was quite a random year that I picked (not the words "about 2010" - those years, during the war on terror, would have been messy years perhaps to a cracked nation such as Alfred. It does not refer to a single specific event, however). 1991 was when the Soviet Union fell to become the separate republics and federations we have today - including the Russian Federation.
> 
> \- The torture scene would have been set very much during the Red Scare, when I imagine Alfred's paranoia would have been through the roof. His references to Ivan knowing the feeling and the "purges" are pointing to Stalin's purges in the 1930s, that were a very similar but very much more brutal and deep time of paranoia in the USSR.
> 
> \- Final note to finish off: the quote at the beginning, "Living forever doesn't mean lasting forever," isn't... actually... a quote. It comes from nowhere and as far as I know it's my own. But it was something I thought of regarding nations and especially Alfred, in which "living" would signify the actual act of breathing and walking etc. while "lasting" would be the more personal, individual definition of what one considers making living worthwhile - Alfred's glory, pride, strength and power are here what would not "last", due to him being very much seen as an empire - all empires fall. (I personally love the idea of an American Empire, in terms of what kind of opportunities it gives me with writing and characterisation.)


End file.
